The salmon are swimming up the river.
Pink salmon, my sister says, in a week they’ll be coho salmon.
It’s a strange sight. Something I’ve always heard about. I know that salmon swim up river to spawn and die. But to watch them on this final march is something else.
Such strong bodies fighting the current.
Bodies turning mottled as they slowly eat themselves, and start decomposing on the way back to their birth place.
An endless line of fish.
All with one goal in mind.
Bodies starting to line the banks.
The dog is scared to go in the water.
Something strange is going on, and she doesn’t like it.
An inexhaustible march. A courageous act built into their DNA.